The Taste of Death
by Angaaldaien
Summary: A short interlude in the halls of Moria. PWPish between Boromir/Legolas (not graphic slash), hints at a plot that will not be expanded upon.
1. Default Chapter

  
The Taste of Death   
By Angaaldaien   


Summary: A teaser, if you will.   
Pairing: Boromir/Legolas   
Rating: R   
Warnings: PWPish   
Notes: I have a plot that would explain the title, but will probably not be expanded upon. I just like how the beginning came out.   
  
  
He withdrew from the contact, but greedy hands found him again.   
  
It seared his skin pleasurably, and that was not allowed. The forbidden aspect of it appealed to him, and he would reject it with force, if he had the choice to. But Legolas' choice had been deprived him, by the very being that gave him that pleasure, who provoked the low moans from deep within his throat, who pierced him with pain and delight, and then left him with nothing more than weariness. The very thought of a man's hands on his body would have, simply months ago, provoked pure disgust. But things had changed so drastically that months ago seemed like ages, and to elves that is much longer than the human perceived age'.   
  
That was why Legolas had allowed himself to be bound and held, by the mere trappings of Boromir's leather belt. His body shivered with the sensations running through every nerve, and Legolas' mind felt itself slip from its firm base, closer to the edge of collapse. It was unknown to Legolas if Boromir had seen his need to be helpless, for Legolas himself did not foresee this need. But it was there, seeking to be fulfilled.   
  
The man completed his business with the elf, and undid the belt, rolling over in the process so Legolas could leave if he wished. Instead, Legolas moved towards the leaving warmth, eager to continue the contact. Both bodies heaved evidencing the recent exertion, the light sheen of sweat running over their bodies running tracts down into the rocks. Boromir watched the elf's rapid breaths begin to slow, and pulled his cloak over the their bodies.   
  
They lay sleeping, the rise and fall of their breath the only movement to betray their life.   
  
It was much time before Aragorn rose to leave, disturbed from his reverie by the keening cry echoing somewhere down the halls or Moria. Inside, the two exhausted bodies stirred, aware of the sound. We must go, Legolas warned Boromir, who did nothing more but hold him tighter.   
  
Why must we go, Boromir returned, no more a question than a reason to dally.   
  
It is not safe.   
  
It was never safe, elf. Nevertheless, Boromir arose.   
  
Wordlessly the two rejoined the group.   
  



	2. Part 2

The Taste of Death  
Part 2

I never intended to continue this, but sometimes, plots never kill themselves. And late nights, when you're feeling mediocre, plots return to relieve you of your misery. Or at least, this one did.  
Summary: Aragorn angsts, and plots twist around my finger. Do read with the knowledge that this will probably not be finished soon (if at all).  
Date: 8/9/03  
-- Angaaldaien, 

The cry continued to echo down the hall, a sharp reminder of the company's dank surroundings. Aragorn peered into the darkness, attempting to discern whatever creature had created the wrenching noise, all the while knowing that his attempts were futile. The yellow flame of Aragorn's torch swept into the darkness at his side, biting at its borders, but making little progress.

Gandalf and the others had immediately scrambled to their feet upon the sudden noise, and the fellowship again began its lonely trek through the mountain. Gandalf appeared worried; something agitated him, for the cry had been terrifyingly seeped in evil, and it suckled at Aragorn's imagination, as he wondered what creature could have made a sound so horrible. Peering into the unknown, Aragorn made up the rear of the entourage, laden with the responsibility of watching over everyone, but with his keen eyes, he could make out everything that was not cast completely in shadow.

He could make out, for example, the slightly disheveled look to Legolas' clothing, or the heat emanating from Boromir's body, and the light sheen that sweat left, despite having dried. He could see how they acted indifferently towards each other in such an obvious manner that Aragorn knew neither had completely accepted their earlier meeting. Even if they had, even if Legolas had desired Boromir's aggressions, which would never happen, Aragorn convinced himself, that was their only meeting, and it would never repeat itself.

Moria could leave deep marks on the soul, and perhaps, Aragorn concluded, that was why he kept burning in hatred for Legolas. Did the golden elf realize how much the ranger hated him? Aragorn hated Legolas to his soul, to the marrow in his bone; every cell in his body reverberated with his hatred of the elf, his pure loathing of Legolas' face, body, hands, touch, scent, feel

I hate you so much, because you make me this, Aragorn whispered under his breath. He shook with rage – or maybe desire – wondering what had driven Legolas to Boromir's arms. He could not help but wonder why Legolas had not come to his. What did this man have to do with anything? Aragorn eyed Boromir. Surely, Aragorn did not lack anything that Boromir had.

Aragorn did not realize that mayhap, it had been because he had what Boromir did not. 

Saruman grinned from his orb, watching as the beautiful fires of jealousy wrapped their wispy tendrils around Aragorn's heart. When will Gandalf realize that the hearts of men are so easily fooled? The wizard laughed, pulling himself away. Awaken the balrog, he commanded to the servant. He had spent far too much time playing with the fellowship already. Sauron awaited. The ring, however, waited for the wizard.

Feedback is always welcomed: angaaldaien@hotmail.com


End file.
